


The Battle of Azkaban

by Calmseeker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-11 23:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calmseeker/pseuds/Calmseeker
Summary: Takes place a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts. The new Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt leads a group of wizards and witches to the prison of Azkaban. The innocent prisoners have been freed, but they must now drive out the Dementors that still remain there.





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> My first post here. Hopefully it is a worthwhile read.

**The Battle of Azkaban**

_ August 15, 1997 _

It was a particularly cold morning for August. Mist had formed, and the early morning dew gave everything a wet sheen. A cool western breeze dispersed some of the salty odor in the town of Montrose. Among the ships docked in the town port, there was one ship docked at the edge of the port that towered over the rest, more than twice the size of the average fishing trawler. It was this ship that the man was approaching. He was a tall man with dark skin and a broad, sturdy frame. He wore dark purple robes and a brand new golden earring in his right ear. Thick clouds covered most of the summer sun, yet on a day such as this, Kingsley Shacklebolt was grateful for however much sunshine there was.

On the side of the steamboat, the name _Sharon _ was written in faded paint. Despite the fact that it was a steamboat, a wooden figurehead was strapped to the bow. Specifically, it was a gargoyle, which was humming an ominous tune under its breath. 

“Morning, minister,” the gargoyle croaked.

“Good morning, Edwin,” said Kingsley in his usual deep voice. “You had best lower your singing today. There will be many more coming soon.”

“Right you are sir.” None of the passerbys seemed to notice this curious exchange as they walked past, sparing not without so much as a sideways glance. Kingsley climbed up the walkway onto the _ Sharon _. Despite its size, its crew consisted of only two members. It was not a position that many applied for. Most of the time, it was appointed forcefully as a form of unofficial sentence within the Ministry of Magic. The man on the deck was one such soul. He seemed to have shrunk since Kingsley had last seen him a year ago. His hair had become far thinner and grayer, and the bowler hat he usually wore had become frayed and torn at the seams. He was mopping the deck when Kingsley approached and looked up with a start.

“Oh! Hello, Minister,” said Cornelius Fudge, sweating. “You’re here rather early.”

“I hope that will not be any trouble, Vice-Warden Fudge. The others will be arriving shortly.” 

“N-no, of course not. I finished setting up the chairs a few minutes ago. Just come find me when we are ready to depart. I shall be, ahh, here.” Fudge glanced furtively behind Kingsley, almost as if another figure might emerge onto the ship and talk to him.

“Where is the Warden now?”

“He is in his cabin. He told me I should make myself useful here. I imagine he’s listening to his records and drinking firewhiskey, as he always does...” The last few words were more a murmur. Fudge gave a weak smile. “You can check the hall for yourself and see if it is too your liking. Best of luck, King- er, Minister.” He dropped his head dejectedly and continued to mop the grimy deck.

“Thank you, Fudge.” Kingsley nodded and walked off. When the Ministry had fallen under Voldemort around a year ago, Fudge had managed to survive by staying under the radar. He had been assigned as Vice-Warden to Azkaban after the last Vice-Warden had run off to join a gang of Snatchers. Kingsley had never been an admirer of Fudge, but he could not help feeling a twinge of pity at the husk of a man Fudge had become after only a few months of his miserable position. It was small wonder that the Warden had become as reclusive as he had.

Kingsley walked down a set of stairs and through a tall set of doors. He entered into a room that resembled an auditorium, big enough and with enough chairs to host almost a hundred people. The room was usually smaller, but a strong Engorgement Charm had been cast on it for the occasion. Its original purpose was a holding cell to house prisoners bound for Azkaban, but recently it had been reassigned as the conference room for those involved in today’s operation. The previous chain-linked seats had been placed in the cargo hold and replaced with folding chairs. At the front was a small platform on which stood a wooden podium. He waved his wand and Summoned an armchair and sat, waiting for the others to arrive. A clock at the back ticked away the seconds. The ship barely rocked among the waves.

It had been a tumultuous past few months since the Battle of Hogwarts. So many things had to be taken care of and new legislations formed. Rare were moments like this where Kingsley had time to collect himself for a short while. Yet he was far from ungrateful, for his weariness indicated that much good work had been accomplished. It was something Dumbledore had told him once long ago. 

A quarter of an hour passed until the doors opened again, and Arthur Weasley walked in.

“Minister! I had a feeling you would be coming in early,” said Arthur cheerily.

“I didn’t feel like waiting in my office,” replied Kingsley lightly. He had a deep, soothing voice that gave a quiet confidence to those that heard it. It was one of the reasons he had performed so well in his duties. “It still feels foreign to me.”

“But surely you’ve gotten used to it a little by now, after what, three months now?”

“I was only acting Minister for most of it. There were no certainties that I would hold my title after the election last month.”

“Oh, come now Kingsley. We all knew you would hold your position. We never had a doubt you would become Minister. George said that it’s in your name, after all. I assume that’s an inside joke?”

“Indeed,” laughed Kingsley. 

“Oh, I called you by your name, didn’t I? Old habit. I’ll make sure not to do that in front of others.”

“I do not mind, but I imagine my staff would not approve. Fawley says that appearances are important.”

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind. Molly is helping Fleur take care of Victoire, and the others will be here shortly. I wanted to arrive a little early to wish you good luck, Minister. Today is going to be a momentous day for wizarding history.” He held out his hand.

“Thank you, Arthur. I hope it will be as well.” He shook his hand.

Over the course of the next hour, numerous people filtered into the room. First came his new Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic Audrey Fawley, a young woman with sharp eyes wearing butterfly frame glasses. She had worked as a secretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement since graduating from Hogwarts, and Kingsley had been impressed by her organizational skills for a while. After Percy Weasley had stepped down from his position, he had decided to give her a chance. She had proven herself to be quite capable and organized these last three months, especially when working independently from him. She had helped salvage him spare hours during his busy schedule to figure out the intricacies for this operation, including having an official meeting with the Warden of Azkaban. Though the final plan was quite simple and she had no obligation to do so, she had insisted on coming and making sure everything went smoothly.

Next came the Aurors assigned to this operation. A few Aurors had been convicted of having used an Unforgivable Curse on Muggles. He had known them for years, and he had felt no joy in snapping their wands. However, due to the current state of Azkaban, he had confined them to Nurmengard, which was now empty after the confirmed death of Grindelwald. Along with them were Death Eaters that had been detained during the Battle of Hogwarts such as Fenrir Greyback, bands of Snatchers, and other Ministry officials convicted of corruption such as Dolores Umbridge, whom he admittedly felt no guilt in snapping her wand and imprisoning in a cold cell.

Then at last came the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore’s Army, who all greeted him warmly and he in turn. The Weasleys lead the group: Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George.

“Like the new earring, Minister,” called out George. “We should get matching ear rings- we can save money and get one for each of us.” He tapped the stump around his left ear. The Sectumsempra curse had healed over well, leaving a hook-shaped scar.

“I highly doubt mum would approve,” said Percy dryly. George gave a quick wink to Kingsley and followed his brother, who was trying to catch the eye of Fawley with a wave, who gave a curt wave of acknowledgment back.

Then Luna Lovegood with his friends Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom, who had a small scar running along the left side of his head made from the Battle of Hogwarts.

“Hello there, Minister,” said Luna breezily. “Did you read my article on how to detect Wrackspurts that was published yesterday in _ The Quibbler _?”

Kingsley shook his head. “I am afraid not. I’ll make sure to purchase an issue tomorrow.” Before Luna could respond, Neville pulled her along by her arm while giving him an apologetic smile, saying, “Sorry Minister. We’ll find our seats soon.” Ginny giggled.

Then, next to Ginny, who had recently turned seventeen, was the trio to whom Kingsley and the entire wizarding community owed everything: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, the two wizards and one witch who had been instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort for good this time. 

Kingsley bowed his head as they approached. “Harry. Ron. Hermione. I trust you have all been well.”

“You really don’t need to do that every time you see us, Minister,” said Hermione, blushing red. “It makes people stare.”

“I don’t mind it, personally,” confessed Ron. “Still feels kind of nice getting free respect from the Minister of Magic.” 

Hermione jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, making Ron wince. “Ow- alright, I won’t.”

“After all the Ministry has done to hinder you three, not even a decade of bowing would be enough. It is important that the Minister of Magic is a guiding example to the Ministry for reformation,” replied Kingsley, his head still bowed. 

“Uncomfortable truths are too easy to forget, especially when they were once deemed acceptable.”

“Please, Minister. You’ve been Minister for a month, and I already like you better than the last three,” said Harry. “After a coward, a hypocrite, and a puppet, you’re great, frankly. I don’t imagine your staff appreciate the bowing, though. Makes the Ministry look… submissive.” He glanced at them quickly. Fawley was giving an irked look.

Kingsley couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thank you, Harry. I will do my best to make sure I stay that way,” he said, raising his head. “Has Robards been harsh on you three?” He gestured to Neville who was taking his seat next to Luna and Hannah Abbott.

“No harder than usual,” replied Harry. “He’s kept us all busy enough these past few weeks, that’s for sure. Neville did mention the stress was starting to pile on.”

“Has to keep up appearances. Can’t go easy on three brats who skipped Auror training. Wouldn’t be fair. At least, that’s what he says to us right before piling us with work and making us write up reports,” muttered Ron. 

A few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, Kingsley had declared Harry, Ron, and Neville as Aurors, though he did tell them in private that they would receive training in the coming years, which the three accepted after some discussion. As for Hermione, she had decided to take another year of studying at Hogwarts to finish her N.E.W.T.s, or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests, which she had not been able to do this past year on account of their mission from Dumbledore. He wondered briefly why they Wizarding community had chosen to keep Nastily in the name all this time. Kingsley had even consulted her once about the spell he had been crafting for today along with Professor Flitwick in recognition of her abundant knowledge. He had also been lucky enough to one of the few people to hear the entire story about their mission one hot summer afternoon.

Trailing behind them was Lee Jordan, a friend of George and the late Fred Weasley, who shook his hand warmly. “Did you like my letter, Royal?” he whispered. 

“I did. River,” he replied.

His mind briefly flashed back to last week when he had received a letter from Lee, which said, “I kept my promise, Royal. -River.” Inside was a photograph of Lee and Fred holding ballots that had the name “Kingsley Shaklebolt” ticked. Just like they had promised a few months ago on their underground radio program Potterwatch. Kingsley had framed the letter in his office.

Last to arrive was Hagrid, one of the few individuals in the room who was taller than him. “Alright there, Minister?” he said, clapping him on the back. Impressively, Kingsley managed to not make his knees buckle, a no small feat. “Sorry for the delay. Left Grawp in charge of gamekeepin.’ I parked the bike on the deck.”

“You’ll want to take your seat soon. It’s the big chair near the back. It’s almost time to begin. Fawley is stringent about staying on time.”

“‘Course, ‘course. Wouldn’t miss this fer the world,” murmured Hagrid.

Kingsley went back to the deck and called to Fudge. “Everyone has arrived, Vice-Warden. Can you take me to fetch the Warden?”

“Yes, of course. Right this way,” Fudge said, his bowler hat slipping to the side and revealing a bald patch. George snickered. 

They walked down another set of stairs and walked down a hallway, stopping in front a door with a simple wooden engraving titled “Warden.” Inside, the sound of slow, classical music was playing. Fudge knocked on the door. 

“Warden Bulstrode? We’re ready to depart, sir.”

The sound of a record stopping was heard. Then the door opened slowly with a groan. The Warden rose from his armchair and stepped out. Roscoe Bulstrode was a man that gave the air that he was perpetually brooding due in no small part to the numerous wrinkles on his face. Black bags were engraved under his bleak, grey eyes, formed after decades of working with Dementors. His salt and pepper hair was cut razor short as if it to prevent them from becoming dishevelled. He wore dark marine robes and an officer’s hat that had a symbol with the letter “A” behind a coin: the emblem of Azkaban.

“Hello Minister,” he said in a dry voice that indicated it was not used to talking to humans.

“Hello, Warden. We have all gathered at the hall.”

“Hmph. It seems you are adamant to go through with this then, despite my warnings.”

“Yes. I am,” said Kingsley with a look of resolve.

“So be it. I shall be the guide to your doom then. Vice-Warden!” Bulstrode barked. “Pull up the anchor. We depart for Azkaban.”

“Yes, Warden,” sighed Fudge as he trudged off.

Fudge’s footsteps faded. Kingsley said, “You did not forget your promise? To give everyone a chance to hear for themselves what you have told me?”

“A promise sworn to the Minister of Magic must be kept, regardless of my own disposition,” muttered Bulstrode. “I will disclose my warning to all those gathered. It will drive away the weak-hearted at least.”

“You give the witches and wizards of our time too little credit. They have fought against the forces of Voldermort and prevailed. They are not weak.”

The warden gave a groan at the sound of the name of Voldemort then shook his head. “We shall see.”

As Kingsley returned to the conference room and Bulstrode trudged to the bridge, Fudge busied himself, waving his wand in different directions, making the gangway fold in on itself, the ropes loosen, and the anchor to rise. When Bulstrode reached the bridge, he tapped on specific points on the wooden steering wheel with his wand. With a final tap to the center of the wheel, the _ Sharon _ set off into the open sea, scarcely making a scuffle.

Bulstrode waved his wand over the steering wheel, and the wheel turned on its own, ensuring that the course was set. He turned to Fudge.

“Ring the bell when we near the island,” ordered Bulstrode to Fudge. “Keep on the lookout for Dementors. They don’t listen to any man anymore. If you can see its hands, it’s too late.”

“Yes, Warden…” Fudge stood next to the wheel, gazing out at the sea through the murky window.

Grunting, Bulstrode trudged to the room and sat in a seat reserved for him in the front row. A few eyes glanced at him with looks of caution or curiosity.

This was Fawley’s cue to call for silence as she announced the Minister of Magic. A round of applause echoed across the room as Kingsley took to the podium.

“Thank you all for coming,” Kingsley began. “Our operation requires as much help as we can afford from wizards and witches experienced at fighting the Dark Arts.”

His voice took on a more somber tone.

“For too long, the wizarding community has relied on Dementors to contain those that we have deemed necessary to imprison, on faceless apparitions that have no conscience. We have allowed them to remove the souls of those we have branded as wrongdoers, to live out the remainder of their lives as husks devoid of what gives life meaning. At its inception, I am sure previous Ministers thought such an alliance with the forces of darkness were necessary, yet as the Second Wizarding War has shown us, the Dementors are loyal only to their own desires and those that would aid in procuring them. They permitted the escape of many Death Eaters. They have tortured both wizards and Muggles alike. So today, after much discussion with both my staff and Warden Bulstrode of Azkaban, I am truly grateful that my first decree as Minister of Magic will be enacted: to banish each and every Dementor remaining on Azkaban.”

A round of applause ensued with cheers, including a loud shout from Hagrid, “Its about time!” Kingsley paused for the noise to die down before he continued.

“This task will prove difficult, however, as the latest report from Warden Bulstrode has confirmed that Dementors that disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts have returned to their old posts and banded together, refusing to leave Azkaban. It seems that after centuries of habitation, they are unwilling to leave the island they have designated as their ‘nest.’ Thankfully, before the Dementors declared their revolt, the Muggles and innocents confined have been released, meaning that the prison is empty of any humans. Therefore, our objective is to secure the fortress and drive out the Dementors permanently, such that they will not return. Before I explain our plan, after his insistence, I have agreed that a final warning is necessary. Thus, I would like to introduce the man who knows more about Azkaban than any other, the Warden of Azkaban, Roscoe Bulstrode.”

A scatter of unenthusiastic applause was mixed with one or two whispers of “There’s a warden for Azkaban?” “It never crossed my mind-” 

Kingsley took his seat as Bulstrode trudged slowly to the podium. He stared at the crowd and then spoke in a gruff tone.

“I imagine many of you do not know me. Frankly, my job is one that most people would not like to imagine a man must do, yet it is something someone must do. That is how it has always been. For centuries, this ship has been used to ferry prisoners to their punishments. I have buried countless bodies of those that met their demise in Azkaban, unable to bear their own minds any longer. I have performed my duties without question, and for that many innocents have suffered. But suffering has always been part of my duty.”

Noone made a sound. Kingsley wondered briefly if Bulstrode had been running over this moment in his cabin. Bulstrode continued. “While no other ships can find Azkaban, the Dementors are always able to return to it despite its Unplottable location. They do this by communicating with each other. I have had the misfortune of working in the presence of Dementors for four decades, yet not even I know how exactly Dementors talk to each other. They take orders from wizards, but in reality, their true loyalty only lies with another.”

Bulstrode paused. A tense silence had fallen as if the audience was aware that an ancient secret was being unveiled before them. Bulstrode spoke once more, and his eyes took on a haunted look.

“What I am about to tell you is a secret every Warden is told by his predecessor. I once thought I would rather die than reveal it, but it seems the justice of Azkaban has become tarnished, making it necessary to… change.” Bulstrode took a deep breath. 

“The Dementors of Azkaban are bound together by an entity that lies on the lowest floor of Azkaban. No one but Ezkridis, the original resident of the island’s fortress, may truly know what it is. Every few months, each Dementor must go down to it. Many years ago, when I was more foolhardy, I once followed it and swore to never again. It turns the air colder and drains joy more than Dementor I have ever known.”

Bulstrode swallowed his breath and his hand trembled unconsciously. “The Dementors give it most of the souls they have sucked out with their Kisses. In turn, it unites the Dementors and allows them to find the island no matter how far away they are. The Wardens have named it the Despera.”

He looked around at the room. “If any one of you knows in his heart he cannot fight the Despera, then leave now while your souls remain with your bodies and not in the belly of that damned monstrosity. Whatever happens on Azkaban today, I will not interfere. I will only ferry whoever is left back to shore, as it has been my duty.” His eyes scanned the faces, looking for the first signs of panic and retreat.

A few seconds of silence passed before a voice spoke. “Did you really think that would be enough to make us run away? Give up without a fight?” Harry stood up from his seat. His voice rose. “Every one of us here has fought Voldemort with our lives while you were taking innocent people to prison cells. I’ve seen things that will give a run for this Despera thing any day. You may not have any bloody guts to fight, but I do! If we have a chance at taking down Azkaban, a thing that’s tormented us, our families, and our friends, then there’s nothing you can say to make me run!”

For a moment, Bulstrode gave a stunned look before he leered. “Potter.” 

Ron stood up next and shouted, “I’m with you, mate. Through thick and thin.” “As am I,” said Hermione. Then Ginny, then Neville, then Luna, then everyone else, each saying, “As am I.” Bulstrode stared at the crowd standing before him with a look of mixed disbelief and chagrin.

“It seems I was right, Warden,” said Kingsley, walking up to the podium with a small smile. “We are all willing to fight once more for a better future without Dementors.”

For a moment, the Warden looked like he was about to rant in a tirade but then only gave a disgruntled huff and said, “So be it, Minister. They will not learn until they see- they feel for themselves. I will be at the bridge.” And before anyone could say otherwise, he trudged out of the room.

“Now then,” called Kingsley, for a clamor had arose of cheering on Harry. The chatter died down eventually. “Now that our resolve is apparent, we must prepare. Warden Bulstrode and I discussed beforehand of the Despera and gave me a journal of Ezkridis that the wardens have guarded. After inspecting its contents with some help-” he glanced at Hermione and Fawley, “we have come up with a plan. Our objective above all is to vanquish the Despera. From what I understand, the Despera is the core that anchors the Dementors to Azkaban, helping them find their way back to the island. In turn, the Dementors give the Despera souls they have taken. Our theory is that without the Despera, the Dementors will lose what attaches them to Azkaban and scatter, no longer able to find Azkaban thanks to the spells that makes it Unplottable. We shall proceed with that theory.” And carefully yet clearly, Kingsley went through the details of the plan. It was not a terribly complicated plan, yet it required everyone to play a part. 

Kingsley finished by stating, “If you fail to recall a happy memory, then think back to three months ago when the reign of Voldemort was finished forever. As long as that day remains in your memories, no Dementor can overwhelm us.”

“I don’t anyone here will have trouble with that, Minister!” shouted George. Scattered laughter spread across the room.

“Fair point, Weasley, but one that bears repeating,” said Kingsley, also smiling. He looked at the clock. “We shall be arriving soon. The bell will ring when the island is in sight. Keep your happy memories close to you.” Applause followed as the Minister of Magic stepped down from the platform.

Fawley provided light refreshments for those who were hungry by making a table appear loaded with mini sandwiches and flagons of Butterbeer with mugs next to them. “More can be provided if needed.” A surprising number of people chose to eat, including Percy, who complimented Fawley’s eye for keeping time and skills with Summoning rather energetically. Fawley nodded with a polite smile. 

Kingsley and several others walked up to the deck and stared out at the murky sea. The sky was getting cloudier, and the waters murkier as they approached the island. Kingsley saw Fudge from the corner of his eye, who seemed to be trying to evade attention as much as possible, staying away from the windows at the bridge after a quick glance at the deck and contracting his body inwards whenever someone passed by.

“That was quite a bold speech, Harry,” said Kingsley, turning to him, who was leaning next to the guide rail. “Not that I expected anything less.”

“Sorry, Minister. I got worked up over thinking about the Dementors,” confessed Harry, shaking his head. “When I last fought them three months ago, I… almost gave up fighting them. I’m not sure how ready I’ll be to fight the Despera.”

“Neither am I, Harry. But we must do our best. We are not alone.”

“I don’t want to make my friends worry, especially Ginny.”

“You must trust that your loved ones will accept your weakness. Remus once told me what your Dementor was.”

“He did?” asked Harry, his ears reddening slightly.

“I agree with what he said. Dementors are right to be feared. What matters is that we do not forget the greater fear.”

“What’s that?”

“The fear of losing those we love to them. The fear of being left behind.”

Harry nodded in understanding, his mind recalling all those that had left before him.

“Voldemort-.” His neck twitched ever so slightly. He was getting more used to calling He Who Must Not Be Named by his name. “Was a catalyst for the wizarding world to make us realize how much we assume Dementors will play by our rules. Now that they have no reason to restrain themselves, they will likely try to perform the Dementor’s Kiss the moment they can.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Are you certain that I cannot change your mind about our group?”

“I’m afraid not, Minister. I need every single one of them. We’ve been through too much to stop now. Not just Ron and Hermione. Neville and Luna and Ginny as well. You’re welcome to try and talk them out of it if you want.”

“I will take your word for it. I needed to know one more time.”

Harry gave a quick grin. “I will say it’s nice to go along with someone else’s plan for once in my life and not having everyone look to me as the ‘Chosen One.’” He gave a sigh of relief.

“I shall do my best to lead you then, not as any Chosen One, but as Harry, an Auror in training.”

“I would appreciate that immensely, Minister.”


	2. The Battle

All too soon, the bell rang from the bridge, and the island of Azkaban came into view. It was a bleak patch of land, most of it taken up by a fortress that towered over the ship as it approached. Dark clouds perpetually hung overhead, and the air became frigid as if a malevolent force was snatching away whatever warmth was left. No plants grew apart from frozen, dead clumps of grass that scattered the fields. 

Usually, there was one Dementor waiting at the pier to keep watch. Now, it was deserted save for a stray dark seagull that fluttered away. They docked on a small pier, just big enough for the _ Sharon _. The gangway unfolded by itself. Kingsley was the first to get off.

“Keep your wands at the ready,” he called. “They already know we are here.”

Quickly yet quietly, they get off the ship and gathered themselves into groups of seven. They marched towards the fort, Kingsley took the lead with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna.

A singular, uphill path connected the pier to the prison. An eerie silence filled their lungs as they walked up the dirt road. In a few minutes, they could see the outlines of Azkaban. If Hogwarts was a castle that evoked wonder and grandiose, Azkaban was a castle that ebbed with paralyzing anguish. It was a cube of stone that may have once had towers but were now long gone, leaving behind only walls. Instead of windows, there were barred holes placed in equal intervals along the walls. As they drew nearer, the holes looked like hundreds of eyes staring at them, reminding them of all the misery that its walls had brought, promising to send them to the same fate. There was a single set of large wooden gates that had no locks, for none of its prisoners would even make it to the gates should they attempt to escape.

When they were about twenty meters from the front gates, Kingsley raised his arm, and they stopped and stood still. A minute passed. Nothing happened. Kingsley raised up his index finger. It was the signal to activate the bait. George exchanged a nod with Lee, who whispered, “_ Jubilio! _” At once, the George began laughing hysterically. His laughs echoed off the stone walls as the Cheering Charm took effect. Kingsley doubted anyone had laughed that hard in Azkaban in decades. Aside from deranged madness. This bait depended on the Dementors’ hunger to consume joy overpowering their resolve to remain within the prison. Kingsley’s intuition from years of working as an Auror told him the Dementors would not be able to resist.

His intuition proved true as from the holes in the walls emerged the Dementors. Their black cloaks trailed behind them silently. Their scabbed, decrepit hands were outstretched towards them like they were trying to grasp pure mirth. The air turned even colder, enough to make teeth chatter and blood turn cold. 

“It worked!” said George, laughing.

Then the front gates were opened, and dozens more poured out, more and more until they threatened to blot out the sky, numbering in the hundreds. 

“It worked,” said George, his smile vanishing.

For a second the Dementors floated in the air like a primordial monstrosity awakened from its slumber. Then they descended, a wave of terror and depression that surged towards the living.

Kingsley’s fears were confirmed. Sightings of Dementors flying towards the North Sea had been reported. Now he knew for sure that all the Dementors in the British region were rallying to protect the Despera. Such thoughts rushed through his mind as he raised wand and called, “_ Expecto Patronum _!”

From the tip of his cedar wand emerged a wildcat known as a lynx. The rest followed suit, and within a matter of seconds a clash of black and white ensued as the Dementors were buffeted by a rush of white corporeal animals of all shapes, ranging from mammals to birds to even a few reptiles and amphibians. Hagrid, who had been permitted by the Ministry to use his umbrella as his wand after the Battle of Hogwarts, managed after some effort to make a small dragon appear and join the other Patronuses. He gave a short chuckle. 

The Dementors let out an unearthly shrill as the cloaks collided with the white animals. They tried to push past them but realized they could not get through. 

“Form a circle around the Minister’s group!” cried Fawley. “Make sure that they can get into the prison.” Kingsley’s group ran forwards, their robes billowing as their Patronuses protected them from the Dementors, who scattered in the face of the Patronuses from almost a hundred wizards and witches.

Then, in uncanny unison, they let down their hoods. Screams cried out as hundreds of empty eye sockets and gaping holes where their mouths should be stared down at the wizards. Again they struck. When one flew off, another would take its place, all pushing against the Patronuses, yearning for souls, until one group’s Patronuses faded.

“Stand your ground!” shouted Kingsley. “Too many have suffered at the hands of these infernal creatures. No more. It ends today.”

The Patronuses that had once dispersed now reemerged, emboldened by Kingsley’s words. This seemeed to encourage others as well, for those that could only emit wisps formed into corporeal guardians. Once more the Dementors were held back as almost a hundred wands were outstretched.

The moment had come. Kingsley met the eyes of Harry, who nodded in understanding. “It’s now or never. Let’s move!” Kingsley’s group of seven charged ahead into the open doors of the prison.

“Give ‘em hell, Harry!” shouted George and Lee.

“Take care o’ yourselves!” said Hagrid, who saw one Dementor coming close to Arthur. With a shout, Hagrid swung his fist at the Dementor, who, though unhurt, backed away in surprise. For a single second it froze in confusion at what had occurred to it for the first time in its existence. It was enough time for a weasel and a dragon to collide into it.

They went down a set grimy stairs. The walls had dry moss growing on them from mildew and age. The walls were lit with a sparse number of magical torches that flickered weakly. All the cells were empty, for the remaining prisoners that were guilty were taken as well, along with the innocent, and placed in the dungeons in the Ministry of Magic until Azkaban was resolved. Further and further down they went, and with each floor the torch lights became weaker and weaker until Kingsley used “_ Lumos _,” to light the tip of his wand.

“Allow me,” said Ron. He took out a lighter from his pocket and flicked it. The lights from the torches entered the lighter. After another flick, a purple ball of light came out of the Deluminator and hovered alongside Ron. “I’ve gotten better at using this thing,” he said proudly.

“And remembering to use it,” added Hermione.

After another few minutes of walking downwards, the staircase ended in a dilapidated door that was locked.

“_ Alohamora _,” said Kingsley. With a click, the door was unlocked. Harry took a step forward, but Kingsley held up his hand. “I will go first. You are more valuable than I.”

“No.”

Kingsley turned around to face Harry, who had an indignant look on his face. “I’m sorry, Minister, but I’m fed up with letting people sacrifice themselves for me. No more.”

Kingsley nodded. “Together then?”

“Together.”

They opened the door, which swung inwards with a creak. Inside was a dark corridor almost like a cave, with the drip of water echoing far away. They walked inside and moved forward slowly, careful not to trip on the uneven stone floor. Cobwebs linked the ceiling, and a stray spider skittered away from the purple light, making Ron wince.

The corridor ended in a small study with a wooden floor with empty shelves, a rusty cauldron, and a dilapidated table. “This was where the warlock Ezkridis conducted his studies into Darker magic,” said Hermione. “It should be around here somewhere…” Hermione began tapping parts of the wall until she stopped at one brick that was redder than the others.

“This might be dried blood. It has the remnants of a spell. It’s similar to the one for the entrance to Diagon Alley.” She tapped the brick and a few others around it in a clockwise direction and finished at the same brick. With a shudder, the brick pushed itself into the wall, and the wall parted, leading into a hidden passageway.

“Nice one,” said Ginny.

“Thanks.”

They were walking through the passageway and nearing its end when they felt it. A cold unlike anything any of them had felt in their lives that seeped into their skin. The light from the Deluminator diminished into a flickering pit the size of a cherry seed. A dull ringing echoed in their heads. With heavy steps, they stepped into the chamber at the end of the passageway. It was a wide chamber that had pillars on the edges with runes and indecipherable etchings of text and pictures that were born from insanity and isolation. In the centre was a magic circle with a hexagram within. In the centre lay a black mound the size of an adult’s fist. It was covered in fine black projections. It had red patches over it and every few seconds, it contracted ever so faintly, almost as if…

“It’s a heart,” whispered Neville.

“The heart of Ezkridis,” said Hermione with a shudder. “Ezkridis was notorious for torturing and performing Dark magic experiments on Muggles. His insane mind wasn’t satisfied with sacrificing sailors in the end though. His own heart was the final sacrifice he made to conjure the Despera. He died not long afterwards.”

“Just like in the tales daddy used to read to me,” said Luna dreamily.

Hermione opened her mouth to interject but closed it silently.

“Can’t we just get rid of the magic circle? It looks like a good dose of water would get rid of it,” suggested Ron.

“It doesn’t work like that, Ron. Who knows what incantations were placed while making the circle. It’s possible that there are still countermeasures against wizard directly approaching the heart,” said Hermione sternly.

“Indeed. That is why we must stay outside of the circle at all times while I cast the spell. One person will stand at each corner of the hexagram. To your places.”

The others nodded and began to walk towards it when it came. From the open holes in the blood vessels of the heart, an unearthly darkness, unlike anything Kingsley would ever see in his entire life, so horrid his eyes threatened to shut forever. It did not so much as emerge from the heart as it seeped out from the hairs on the heart. Before a word could be spoken, the… entity had emerged completely. It was an amalgamation of pitch-black shadows that swirled constantly around its form of a figure holding a long scythe with both hands. It was thrice as big as a Dementor, yet it had no hood to cover its horrifying visage. At the core of his head was a gaping grey hole like a Dementor, yet unlike a Dementor it seemed to have a gravity of its own, pulling everything in the room towards it. 

They raised their wands, but the air was so cold, no words could come out. Kingsley was the first to react. He waved his wand in a circular motion, and a ring of flames formed around the outer edge of the room. It did not erase the cold, but it provided enough warmth for him to shout “_ Expecto Patronum _ !” The white lynx leaped at the Despera, to which it swung its scythe. The lynx managed to dodge and slash at its wrist, making it shirk briefly. It hissed like a predator surprised that its prey had bitten back. The cold grew more intense, reaching seemingly into the bones. It was like standing outside at night in a long winter, one which had forgotten to give way to spring. The lynx vanished. Yet Kingsley’s initiative was enough. Harry and the others also managed to shout “ _ Expecto Patronum _,” and soon seven Patronuses were clashing with the Despera. 

“Get moving!” yelled Harry. 

That was all that they needed to break their trance. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna all sprinted to the six points around the magic circle, keeping close to the ring of flames still touching the walls for warmth. The Despera made a move to swing its scythe at Ginny, but a silver stag cantered into its hand, making it back away. Stray stones and rotten wood began to get sucked into the Despera, disappearing into a forsaken void from which there was no return. Meanwhile, right after Kingsley’s Patronus had disappeared, he had begun muttering a set of incantations and waving his wand in a complex set of movements like a conductor’s stick in front of him, his eyes half-closed. 

The six managed to arrive at the six points where the vertexes of the hexagram were located. The three wizards and three witches raised their wands in front of them. Their patronuses began to move around in a ring around the circumference of the magic circle, forming a silvery trail. 

“We’re in our positions. Now, Minister!” shouted Neville.

Kingsley finished the last verse of his phantom conducting and opened his eyes. He held his wand with both hands and called out in a loud, booming voice, “_ Patronus Luxia Exilus!” _The silver white lynx returned, yet know it was shining with bright white light that blotted out the shadows cast by the Despera. As it drew nearer, the heart began form jagged cracks, and it shuddered as if recognizing its own peril. The Despera recoiled, rising up into the ceiling as if it was about to ascend into the sky.

Then the Despera gave out an unearthly scream that reverberated in the heads of everyone present and made them fall to their knees, clutching their heads. It was a scream of pure despair that whispered to them to give up on everything they held dear, for everything would pass and be forgotten. Hermione and Ginny choked up with tears. Ron and Neville just hung their heads in dejection. Luna was murmuring as if talking to someone. Harry clutched at his temple, struggling with an invisible enemy. The Patronuses faded away like melting snow in the breeze. From the shadows of the Despera figures were appearing, figures shrouded in fog except for their faces. Kingsley drew ragged breaths, his vision flickering before him. It was more than just bringing back memories as the Dementors did. Reality faded away as they were being forced to relive their worst memories yet unable to change anything. They were getting pulled closer towards the Despera, no longer protected by their Patronuses-

Kingsley opened his mouth to speak but only one word was uttered. “Remus.”

Remus Lupin was staring at him, drifting towards him, calling out to him… Like sleep descended upon a weary mind, the memory enveloped him in its tight embrace.

It was during the final clash of the Second Wizarding War, which had been fittingly termed as the Battle of Hogwarts. Kingsley was duelling Nott in the courtyard. To his left, Remus was duelling Dolohov, while Tonks was duelling her estranged aunt Bellatrix, whose deranged eyes were focused intently on Tonks. Despite their advantage of two against one, Bellatrix was keeping up with them, barely showing any signs of struggle. Tonks was the first to see the Dementors that had appeared from the courtyard through a hole in the wall. It was gliding towards Remus, who turned to face the Dementor too late. In a split decision, she conjured a Patronus, a large wolf that repelled the creature back. Tonks turned back to face her foe but was a second too late. Bellatrix had seen her opening. “_ Avada Kedavara _ !” A green flash of light hit Nymphadora, that clumsy, vibrant girl he had overseen from the first day she had begun her training as an Auror who despised anyone calling her by her maiden name, squarely in the stomach. With no more than a quiet sigh escaping her lips, Tonks was knocked back to a pillar and fell to the grass, motionless. For a brief moment, Kingsley could only stare as Remus saw the body of his wife, and all the age and weariness that had been present on his face seemed to bear upon him now in its entirety. In a daze, he tried to repel a curse from Dolohov and stumbled backwards. Before he could recover from his distracted state of mind, his wand was knocked away from his hand. Time slowed for Kingsley as he shot Nott with a Stunning Spell square to his thick chin. Then he ran, but he was running too slowly, his wand too slow as Dolohov made a slashing motion with his wand at Remus and yelled, _ “Lacerabe Damocleo!” _

He saw the line of purple fire run squarely across Remus’ chest. His eyes widened momentarily before closing in acceptance as if he had been waiting for this exact moment to arrive his entire life. His knees gave way, almost as if his body was caving in on itself with the age and pain that it had experienced. His face seemed to embrace the ground, his head turned away from the moon that had reached its peak and was shining down upon them. For a brief moment, the moon seemed to lose some of its glow in a way of acknowledging the passing of the last of the Marauders. 

Before any spell could be cast in retaliation, an explosion from the castle caused one of the pillars to collapse onto the pavement, causing to dust billow over them all. By the time the dust settled, Dolohov and Bellatrix were gone, yet a woman’s shrill laughter of triumph was just discernible over the ensuing chaos. Before he could inspect Remus and Tonks, a sudden surge of spiders had appeared, and Kingsley had diverted his attention to aiding as many students as he could. He Stunned many acromantulas, making sure that none of their fangs made contact. When Voldemort had given them a brief respite in his ultimatum, Kingsley had found the bodies of Lupin and Tonks next to the collapsed pillar. Silently, he conjured a wet cloth and wiped clean their faces and robes. Then, with tears brimming in his eyes, he carried them both together to the Great Hall. When they were lain down next to one another, he had moved away to help any of the wounded, focusing his mind on those that could still be saved. He had not allowed the tears to fall, yet now as he was trapped in this memory, the tears from back then now trickled down his face as he relived every single aching sensation. He stood over their cold bodies and caressed their faces gently. Any warmth that had once been was no more.

“I am sorry, Nymphadora. You would not want me to call you by it, but it is a beautiful name. I told you as much when we first met,” he said, his deep voice full of pain and melancholy. “I am sorry, Remus. I could not save your family.” His eyes could not look away from his old comrade that had survived through two Wizarding Wars in the Order of the Phoenix.

Tonks and Lupin did not reply. They never would. Kingsley lowered them on the floor of the Great Hall and bowed his head, unable to bear the weight of the memory.

Then, from the recesses of his mind came a phrase he had shared with Remus many months ago, the code they had decided to verify each other’s identity. The last words Dumbledore had told them.

“Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him.”

And Dumbledore had been right. As he always was. Harry had defeated Voldemort and ended the war, and far away in the distance, he heard his voice. “Don’t give in!” He widened his eyes, and his vision became a little clearer. The images of Remus and Tonks faded slightly as he saw Harry stand up, his body trembling with effort, and hold out his wand before the Despera that loomed overhead like a reaper. “_ Expecto Patronum _!” The silver stag cantered forth, its horns lowered. ‘James,’ thought Kingsley briefly.

“Don’t give in!” he heard Harry say. “Remember our victory against Voldemort! Don’t forget the sacrifices that were made, but don’t forget about the future we made too.” His stag was charging forth, only to get knocked back and dissipate from the scythe, yet Harry to summon another stag, refusing to give up. “Not just for us, but for our children as well!”

Harry was repeating what Kingsley had told them on the ship. The memory to hold onto when they could not think of anything else. The memory of everyone running to Harry after the final clash, knowing that they were free at last, and the war was finally over. After so much tribulation, his hopes and Lupin’s hopes had been granted. And Remus had fought with the same hope he had held. As long as Kingsley breathed, Remus’ faith in Harry would live on inside of him. 

Ted Lupin came into his mind, the orphaned son of Remus and Tonks. Harry was the godfather, but he was still a young adult, barely older than eighteen. He would help Harry raise Ted however he could, revise the laws regarding Ministry welfare to orphans in broken homes. Work towards a better future where Ted could live free of fear of the Ministry turning against him.

Kingsley looked down at his fallen comrades. “I am sorry, old friends,” he whispered. “I will not let you down again.” The faces of Remus and Tonks were peaceful, their eyes closed and facing one another as if falling asleep together in their bed as their images faded away completely.

Kingsley stood up and roared, “_ Expecto Patronum! _” His lynx lunged out and bit down on the Despera’s wrist. It shrieked and swung its scythe at it, but the lynx dodged nimbly away before nipping it once more.

“Do not lose heart!” he shouted. “Remember how one man carried our hopes and ended the Second Wizarding War. Remember the future that lies ahead for us that will not forget the mistakes of the past and ensure they are not repeated. Remember the fallen and fight for their sakes. Stand and fight!”

“Yeah!” shouted Neville. “We have Harry Potter who beat _ the _ Voldemort! Compared to him, this is nothing!”

“Dumbledore’s Army!” shouted Luna.

“Dumbledore’s Army!” shouted Ron in response. “I’ll be damned if I let my soul get sucked out today after all the trouble I’ve gone through to save it!”

“Aim for the heart, Minister! It can’t protect the heart and use its scythe to fight all of us,” said Hermione.

“For ourselves and our children,” said Ginny.

One by one, they slowly stood, facing their enemy united. Kingsley gave a look of gratitude to them, whose face turned red and nodded. 

“We’re going to rewrite the history of Azkaban, here and now! Together!” yelled Harry. The remaining five focused their remaining strength and shouted, “_ Expecto Patronum! _” The seven Patronuses moved as one, a stag, a Jack Russell terrier, an otter, a horse, an elk, a hare, and a lynx. The six animals moved to grapple the Despera. The stag and elk pinned down its arms against the wall, preventing it from swinging its scythe. The terrier, otter, hare, and lynx all charged through its lower form, making the Despera disperse upward and leave the heart vulnerable.

The Despera gave its loudest scream yet, enough to echo across the entire island. Every stray rock and debris in the room flew into its swirling maw, yet the Patronuses protected the wizards and witches. 

“Now, Minister!” shouted Harry.

The flames around the wall vanished as Kingsley focused his entire attention on the single spell that he cast once more at the Patronus, faster than he had cast it before through sheer concentration and resolve. “_ Patronus Luxia Exilus! _”

His Patronus shone once again with white light, yet this time the other Patronuses were shining with radiance as well along with Kingsley’s Patronus, making the Despera shriek and struggle to move its scythe, yet the scythe dispersed in the face of the searing radiance.

“They’re resonating,” whispered Hermione.

The lynx pounced with a sense of finality as its claws collided with the black heart. The lynx seemed to struggle to push through as the heart would not give way. Yet bit by bit, cracks began to form in the shell until the lynx pierced through, ripping the decrepit heart into pieces. Black liquid poured out from its vessels that had once pumped blood. The wall behind the Despera crumbled as the Despera began vibrating with incredible fervor. Lead by the lynx, the Patronuses began to form a circle of light around it that converged inwards, closing in on the Despera on all sides. It tried sucking up the souls of the Patronuses but discovered they held none. It slammed its body against the circle but only seared itself, which began to form scabs. The circle of light closed in further and further and the Despera shrunk smaller and smaller until it was engulfed completely in light. With a final scream, the Despera disappeared into the shadows, and a tremor vibrated from the prison throughout the island and to the sea, making the waves toss and turn violently.

They stood in stunned silence at the marvel that had occurred before them until Kingsley said, “Quickly. The crumbling of the wall and the Despera’s banishment may have weakened the structure. We must leave.”

They nodded and quickly went back through the passageway and up the stairs. When they arrived back in front of the doors, a tremendous sight was transpiring before them. All of the Dementors were rising up into the air, looking around in every direction in confusion. Above them, the Despera, now much smaller and wounded, was drifting away from the island, looking around the unfamiliar surroundings it saw for the first time. Its anchor that had tied it to the island now destroyed, the Despera moved farther and farther away out over the sea, lost in its newfound freedom. Several of the Dementors formed a trail behind the Despera, following after what had once bound them together. The rest of them dispersed into every direction, no longer holding any attachment to the island until they all became faint black smudges on the horizon. The Patronuses disappeared, their duties done.

A quiet air fell upon Azkaban. Then the clouds parted, and silver linings appeared as for the first time in centuries, real sunlight shone down on Azkaban. Parts of the walls had cracked following the tremor, along with a small sign that denoted the graveyard. A sudden cheer erupted as the realization of their victory became apparent. Much embracing followed and laughter, and it was as an ancient curse cast long ago through the Dementors had been vanquished. They ran up to Kingsley and the others, who walked down the pathway from the prison to greet them. A swarm of hugs and shaking of hands ensued in congratulations. Another definitive step had been taken to change the wizarding world for a better tomorrow. Fawley distributed chocolates from a box, which she handed out generously. Percy helped her, who smiled in appreciation. Kingsley saw Harry and Ginny share a kiss, while Ron and Hermione held each other in a warm embrace. Neville was chatting with Dean and Seamus, while Luna was talking idly to George and Lee. Lee had a look of confusion, while George was just laughing lightly, his head tilted such that his wounded ear was facing upwards.

Kingsley searched for casualties. Miraculously, only one Auror had fallen. Williamson, whose eyes stared blankly at the silver lining, his soul gone with the Despera. Kingsley closed his eyes. “May you be the last victim of Azkaban,” he whispered.

With a heave, he lifted up and carried Williamson back to the _ Sharon. _ He felt that it was his duty as the leader of this operation and Minister of Magic to properly acknowledge the one who had fallen. Waiting from them were Fudge and Bulstrode next to the gangway.

“Is it over, Minister? We felt an incredible tremor, then the Dementors began leaving, then- Oh dear, is that- Williamson? Oh no…” said Fudge shakily, twirling his bowler hat in his hats out of habit. “Is- Is he-”

“Vice-Warden,” snapped Bulstrode. “Make yourself useful and take him to my cabin. Place him in my bed for the return journey. I doubt he will be much good anywhere else.”

“Yes, Warden, right away,” and with a “_ Wingardium Leviosa _,” Fudge levitated Williamson and walked up the gangway, still murmuring to himself dejectedly. “Knew him since he was a boy…”

Bulstrode took out a pipe and lit it with his wand. “Well. I’ll be damned. You actually did it,” he muttered. He took off his hat. “In all my years, not once have I seen such fair weather in Azkaban.”

“It is the winds of a new beginning, Warden,” said Kingsley. “It is a change the rest of the Wizarding World must hear as well. Not all may celebrate it, but we must move forward with the wills of those that have fallen so that we could arrive here. Once the repairs are completed from the battle to the fortress, we must assign Aurors to guard the prisoners. That means you will be in charge of people other than the Vice-Warden. I trust I can count on you to handle this responsibility, along with the many more changes to come to Azkaban?”

Bulstrode took a deep puff of his pipe and blew a smoke ring with a sigh. He put his hat back on, looked at Kingsley squarely into his eyes, and replied, “So be it, Minister. So be it.”

A warm eastern front blew across the ship. In the sky, a seagull was flying towards the island, and Kingsley knew that summer had finally arrived in Azkaban.

**The End**


End file.
